Last week Jesus had an encounter with a rich man who seemed
to be letting his many possessions hold him back from becoming a disciple.
Let’s imagine that, like Jesus’s chosen twelve, we manage to let go of all of
our stuff. Have we made it to the top? Not necessarily. Because we still think
making it to the top is what it’s all about.

I recently
heard a compelling interpretation of the Franciscan vow of poverty as living
with nothing to defend. Fr. Dan Crosby, a Capuchin Franciscan, pointed out how
often people who willingly have given up material possessions will point to
that sacrifice as a matter of pride. In the absence of material things,
spiritual and intellectual achievements can take on too much importance for us.
Anytime we become defensive about who we are or what we do, we need to ask
whether we’re not still placing ourselves at the center of the universe.

Before
Jesus began his public ministry, he was led into the desert to confront three
temptations: turning stones to bread (material wealth), throwing himself from a
cliff into the arms of God’s waiting angels (power), and bowing down before the
Father of Lies in order to rule the nations (prestige).

Throughout
the Gospels, Jesus leads his disciples to recognize that they, too, must fight
those temptations. Those who give in to an expectation of privilege because of
their positions of religious leadership rarely succeed in what really matters:
leading others to recognize the presence of God in their midst.

Human
society has long been structured according to hierarchical patterns. In the
business world, in the political world, it’s all about winning. The notion of a
servant leader would be laughed at in many boardrooms around the world. Even
Jesus realizes that he’s probably not going to change that reality in a fallen
world. But what he tells his disciples is this: “It must not be that way with
you.”

Again and
again throughout the history of Christianity, institutions have fallen prey to
the temptation to power. And when that happens, prophets come along to
challenge the leaders to return to the message of the Gospel. More often than
not, it’s a thankless task. We don’t let go of our perks and privileges
willingly for the most part. Ironically, even those with no power or prestige
will defend those who have it, because secretly they hope to get there someday.
We like to bask in the reflected glory of belonging to an institution that’s
always right, always perfect, always powerful.

This
section in Mark’s Gospel is the last preparation for Jesus’ entry into Jerusalem and the fate
that awaited him there. It’s his last chance to help the disciples understand
the full implication of his identity as the Messiah and what it would mean for
them as his followers. No matter how often he tells them that the Son of Man
must suffer and die, they’re still filled with dreams of glory and the promise
of an earthly kingdom with all its trappings.

Our world,
our country, even our religious institutions, are not likely to change any time
soon. But if we each do our own part to let go of having power over others and
learn to use what power we have to do good for them, we may see small signs of
hope even now in these difficult times. If we can stop defending the
indefensible, we will discover the true power of Christ, the power of the
cross.